Mom retreats to the kitchen to put the groceries away. Cabinets open and close. I’m lulled by the sound of water filling the sink, and I start thinking about tomorrow, on the move again. I remember my jeans.
“I washed my clothes, Mom. Can you put them in the dryer?”
“No problem,” she says, heading to the laundry closet.
It’s such a simple, normal thing—Mom doing my laundry—and I feel an unexpected craving, wanting more of it, the sweetness of routine life.
She holds up my wet jeans and T-shirt before tossing them in the dryer. “Where did you get these, by the way?”
“Target.”
She shakes her head. “They look like boys’ clothes.”
I take my glasses off and rub my eyes. Mom is now a fuzzy shape; she’s color and movement in the other room, barely discernible. I think of distant galaxies, hidden worlds, black holes, dark matter. There’s so much of the universe we simply can’t see.
“You okay?” Mom asks. She’s in her pajamas.
“I’m hanging in.”
“I’m going to have a talk with your father,” she says, sitting on the couch next to me. She pats my knee and looks me in the eye. “We should have talked this through better. What do you want, Ruby? Do you want to live with me?”
“What do I want?” I want a universe with you and Dad, and without Willow and Kandy. I want us to be together again. “You, me, Dad. Together.”
Mom gives me a wry smile, her chipped tooth showing. “What about Patrick?”
“He’s fine too. I like Patrick.”
She laughs. “You and your brother are inseparable. You couldn’t live without him.”
But I have lived without him. Just as I’ve lived without you.
Mom starts humming and playing the air drums, apparently once again reminded of an eighties song. “No, you couldn’t survive,” she sings, poking her finger into the air, punctuating the notes she’s trying to hit. “It’s my time, I’ll be fine. There’s a crossroads ahead—”
I hold up my hands, palms forward. “Could we give your inner rock star a breather? What are you trying to say?”
“Look at me, Ruby.” She gestures to her face. Her Cherokee cheekbones. “I’m at a crossroads. My marriage is over. Patrick is leaving for college in less than a year, and then you’re on his heels. No one needs me.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head, as if she’s trying to rid herself of a bad dream.
“I do!” I blurt.
“Since when?” She laughs, but it’s riddled with hurt. “Not since you were about eleven.”
The room suddenly feels colder. “I will always need you,” I say, wanting to sound earnest, but it comes out a little angry. How could she think that? Does Other Ruby ignore her? Or take her for granted?
“Sweetheart, I’m not dropping off the face of the earth,” she says. “But I’ve decided to rent an RV next summer and drive out west for a month. I want to see some of the national parks and monuments in Arizona and New Mexico. I want to look for a new place to live.”
“You’re leaving?”
The word “crossroads” rings on—a choice, a splitting of paths. She’s about to make a break for it, from the old road. She’s looking for a better version of reality. Just like I am.
“Not for a year or two, but yes. I’m craving a fresh beginning,” she says. “I don’t think anyone can blame me for that. Besides, what am I going to do after you kids are gone? End up a regular at karaoke night? Because I can honestly see that happening.”
I imagine Mom with a microphone in her hand, standing on a beer-sticky stage, with tanked, balding guys leering at her. Ugh. No way. That’s not what I want for her.
“But if you and Dad were still in love, you wouldn’t be leaving, right?”
“Of course not,” Mom says. “Everything would be different.”
Exactly.
“That pain pill’s kicking in,” I say. “I’m fading.”
“We’ll talk more tomorrow,” Mom says. “We’ll get this worked out. We’ll get the old Ruby back.” She cups my chin in her hand. “My happy-go-lucky, pretty, smiling Ruby. You’ll be okay.”
Happy-go-lucky. I’ve never thought of myself that way. Is that how people see me? Or is the Ruby who’s normally here that much different than I am? Is she pretty and smiling because Mom didn’t die when she was four? Or because she has Patrick dutifully looking out for her?
Mom hands me a down-filled pillow and a fluffy comforter.
“Thanks. Good night,” I say through a tremendous yawn.
Mom kisses my forehead, and I relish the feel of her skin against mine. “Good night, my little girl.” She stands and turns to leave the room.
“Mom? Can you see any stars tonight?”
She walks across the room and parts the curtains. She shakes her head. “Total cloud cover. They’re forecasting another storm.”
Not a second later, a crisp crack of thunder shakes the dishes in the kitchen cabinets. I suddenly remember something else from Ó Direáin’s plaque. He was killed while experimenting with electricity and lightning.
“I hope that doesn’t keep you up,” Mom says. She pulls the curtains closed and clicks off the lamp. A night-light dimly illuminates the room, making Mom look otherworldly.
“Do you think you could crack that code in my notebook, Mom?”
Mom shrugs. “Probably. Is it a simple cipher? Some of Ó Direáin’s codes were much more complex. But don’t get any smart ideas, because I’m not doing your homework for you.”
What’s a simple cipher? “I don’t know where to start.”
“Mr. McBride probably gave you one of the less impossible passages. So if it’s an alphabetic shift, you can crack it by process of elimination. That could take a long time, though. It’s a lot easier if you have the key. D is for ‘decryption.’”
“The key,” I say, suddenly feeling unable to focus or hold a thought. Sleep is settling in like a fast and thick fog.
“Dors bien, ma douce,” she says.
“No more French,” I mumble. “I can’t understand it.”
“Sleep well, my sweet.” Mom’s lips brush my forehead again.
I close my eyes and imagine a clear, starry night. There’s Betelgeuse, Bellatrix, and Rigeclass="underline" the three brightest stars in the Orion constellation. They ground me, make me feel like there’s something reliable and constant in the universe. They’re impossible to miss, no telescope required. You just need to stop what you’re doing and look up.
Chapter Eleven
“Ruby, sweetheart. Wake up.”
I groan.
“It’s after seven,” Mom says. “Are you moaning because you’re sleepy, or because you’re in pain?”
I blink the dryness out of my eyes and look at Mom. Mom! I touch her arm: proof that she’s alive, that all of this—the denim couch, the sunlight streaming through the window, the multiverse—is real.
“How’s your leg?” She lifts the comforter to look underneath, but Other Ruby’s baggy pajama bottoms hide the truth. I pull away before she can get a better look.
“Super.” I smile to convince her.
“Here’s the plan,” she says. “You’re coming with me to school, where you’ll stay in the nurse’s office. I need to give a calculus test first period and attend a staff meeting second period. Then I’ll take you to the hospital for an X-ray.”
Problem: I already have a plan, and it doesn’t involve going to school or the hospital. “Why don’t I stay here?”
“I’m not letting you out of my sight.” She pats my hand.
“Isn’t it Sunday?” I ask. “Why is there school?”
Mom’s face turns serious. “What do you mean?”
I’ve said something stupid. There’s something I should know about school and Sundays. “Never mind.”